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Petronille’s face lit up. She had been enthusiastic about the foundling home and perhaps, Nicolaa thought privately, seeing firm evidence that five young lives had been saved from dire poverty might divert her sister’s attention from thoughts of death.

Leaving their empty cups on a small table for collection by a maidservant in the morning, the two sisters climbed into the huge bed they were sharing. As Nicolaa laid her head on her pillow, Petronille said drowsily, “You know, I have been thinking much about Tercel and how he was when he entered our service. The first thing that struck me about him was that I had seen him before but, of course, I could not have done, for he had never left Wharton’s demesne before he joined our retinue. Yet, since his death, the impression has returned more strongly. If his mother was from Lincoln, and her son resembled her, perhaps I might have met her in her youth, before I married Dickon and went to live in Stamford.”

“It is almost certain she was of merchant class, Petra, and it is unlikely you would have done so.”

“I know,” Petronille replied. “But I cannot rid myself of the notion. It is most distressing…”

As her sister’s voice drifted off into sleep, Nicolaa once again regretted that Petronille had been exposed to the terrible crime. She hoped the visit to Riseholme would lift her spirits. If it did not, as much as she valued her sister’s company, she would urge her to return home before her planned departure at Eastertide.

Nineteen

Very early the next morning, Willi lay awake in the foundling home, staring up at the smoke hole in the ceiling. He had decided that this would be the day he would leave Riseholme and go back to Lincoln to try and find his father. He thought it would be best to go just before dawn so that he could steal away from the property in darkness and would have only a short time to wait before it would be light enough for him to find his way to Lincoln. There was only one problem with his scheme and that was the difficulty of judging the time. The small square opening above his head showed that it was still dark, but he had dozed somewhat after he had gone to bed at nightfall and could not tell how many hours remained until first light.

He looked toward the fire in the middle of the barn. It had been banked down the night before and was now just glowing embers. Alongside him the other children slept, Mark on the pallet next to this one and the girls beyond that. Over by the far wall the manservant that stayed with them every night was snoring loudly. Willi decided he would have to leave now, even though there might still be some hours until it was light. It might be necessary to wait in the greenwood until the darkness receded but it was better than leaving it too late and take the chance of someone seeing him. He had secreted a little food in his tunic over the last couple of days and his plan was to creep out of the small door at the far end of the barn and make his way quickly into the forest that lined the track leading from Riseholme to Ermine Street. The cover of the trees extended all the way to Lincoln; once within their shelter he could walk parallel to the main thoroughfare for the three miles to the town and enter Lincoln through Newport Arch, which was always opened early. If he could hide amongst the crowd of traders and other travellers that sought entry into the town every day, he would escape the notice of the gate wardens.

He turned slightly on his pallet and looked at Mark. The other boy was awake and his eyes gleamed in the small light from the fire. Willi had told his friend of his intentions yesterday and Mark had agreed to cover for his absence as much as he could by saying Willi was in the outside latrine or had gone to the kitchen, so as to delay the inevitable search that would be made. With a nod towards Mark, Willi rose from his pallet and carefully rolled up the rough woollen blanket that had covered him. It was still very cold outside; he would need the blanket to keep him warm.

Making as little noise as possible, he tiptoed across the open expanse of the barn, holding his breath and praying he would not be heard. With trembling fingers he lifted the wooden bar that secured the entrance and heaved a sigh of relief when it rose without a sound. The door had leather hinges that had been well oiled and it, too, silently slid open wide enough for him to squeeze through. Carefully, he pushed it shut behind him and looked around the yard. The almost-full moon gave enough light for him to see his way to the fence that surrounded the property. All was quiet. There were a couple of dogs near to the building where the servants lived, but they knew his scent and were not likely to bark. With stealthy steps he crossed the yard. One of the pigs in the sty grunted, but there was no sound from the other animals-not the cows in their shed or the chickens in the coop. A sudden shape loomed out of the darkness and he jumped in alarm, but it was only one of the nanny goats, staring at him with her protuberant eyes as her jaw moved sideways in a chewing motion, making the tuft of hair on her chin waggle. She continued to gaze after him as he ran across the yard and climbed the fence. A few more steps and he was across the track and into the cover of the greenwood. Breathing a sigh of relief, he hoisted the rolled blanket onto his shoulder and began to trudge his way through the deep pile of leaves that had fallen to the ground the previous winter, heading for Lincoln.

Nicolaa and Petronille started out on their journey to Riseholme as soon as they had broken their fast. Hugh Bruet, the knight who had accompanied Petronille to Lincoln, led the escort along with Ernulf and two men-at-arms from the castle garrison. Bruet was pleased to be away from the castle, for it alleviated the twinge of conscience he had been suffering since the murder and dimmed his memory of a minor happening that had caused him to wonder about its import. He did not believe that what he had seen and heard had anything to do with the death but, even so, he wondered if he should have told Richard Camville about it. But to do so might bring another into disrepute, and cast aspersions where none were warranted. He was glad to be going to Riseholme; it would provide him with a brief reprieve from his dilemma. A ride in the brisk morning air might clear his thoughts.

Unaware of Bruet’s concerns, Nicolaa and Petronille had mounted their palfreys and set off with a lightness of heart induced by a sense of revisiting the days of their youth. As adolescent girls they, along with their younger sister, Ermingard, had often accompanied their father on the trips he had made to inspect one or another of his properties. They had always looked forward to these excursions and the chance it gave them to ride out into the open countryside and away from the confines of the castle. And today they were reminded of the pleasure those trips had brought, for the cold snap had broken and a beneficent early spring sun was shining its warmth on their faces, just as it had then. As they rode, they chatted comfortably with one another. Although it was only a short distance to their destination, they passed a few fields being readied for the plough and once, through a gap in the forest, saw some newly born lambs gambolling beside their mothers. By the time they reached the turnoff that led to Riseholme, Nicolaa was pleased to see that her sister’s cheeks had turned a rosy hue and a smile curved her mouth. It had been many weeks since Petronille had looked so happy.

As the party cantered along the turnoff to Riseholme, the castellan was surprised to see her bailiff and two or three servants searching among the bushes on the far side of the road. When the bailiff saw his mistress’ party approaching, he quickly doffed the soft cap he was wearing and came to meet them.